Robert Browne: Trial Junkies

"I just want to know how it's progressing."

Matt sobered. "It's not my story."

"Why not?" Monica asked. She had leaned back in her chair as if to accentuate her breasts, which every male in the group had long ago agreed were quite spectacular.

She had worked her way through college as a webcam stripper, baring those breasts on a private video website to anyone with enough cash to subscribe. She had never made any apologies for what she did, but to keep things civil, she'd asked her employers to block the IP addresses of the school and the house they all lived in, so that none of the guys could join in-much to their chagrin.

The last Hutch had heard, she had long retired, but was running her own web dynasty now, hiring other models to cater to the lost and lonely.

"Seems like a no brainer, to me," she said to Matt. "Jenny was a friend of yours."

"That's exactly the problem. There's conflict of interest to think about. So my editor assigned the story to another reporter."

Ronnie smiled. "You mean they still have ethics in the news business?"

"Just barely. Although you wouldn't know it if you turned on a TV."

"You might not be assigned to the story," Hutch said, "but I doubt that you're out of the loop. Do they have a suspect or not?"

Matt shrugged. "Our sources at CPD are playing this very close to the vest-which is unusual. And that leads me to believe the hammer has come down and come down hard. I figure they've got someone in the pipe for this, and they don't want any leaks."

"So what's the delay? Why haven't they arrested the bastard?"

"This isn't like your old TV show," Matt told him. "Murder investigations take time and expertise, and in a city this size, that could mean days, rather than hours. And if they do have somebody on the hook, they'll want to be sure they've got a solid case against him before they make an arrest."

"My money's still on some random maniac," Ronnie said. "He saw, he wanted, he took."

Nadine hugged herself as if the room had suddenly gone cold. "My God… If that's true, then it could've been anyone in that casket. One of us ."

"It was one of us," Hutch said.

"You know what I mean."

Tom Brandt, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up. "I know you're all hoping for a tidy end to this saga, but if you look at the stats, the Chicago PD only clears about thirty-five percent of its homicide cases in a given year. So the prognosis is fairly bleak."

Tom had been something of a pretty boy in College, but was now a slightly rotund man with very little hair and pasty, indoor skin. He had always, however, been a pessimist, and Hutch refused to allow that pessimism to get to him.

"No," Hutch said. "That's unacceptable. They'll catch this son of a bitch, and the minute he goes on trial, I'll be sitting there in the front row."

"So will I," Ronnie said.

Several of the others nodded their heads solemnly as the waitress approached with a tray full of drinks and started passing them around.

Then glasses were raised and Nadine said, "To Mama J."

It was a nickname Hutch had forgotten about. Given to Jenny because of her striking resemblance to a young Michelle Phillips, one of the members of an old sixties rock group, The Mamas amp; the Papas -a favorite of Nadine's father.

"To Mama J," everyone repeated, then clinked their glasses and drank their drinks.

Over the course of the next couple hours the drinks kept coming and the conversation flowed, moving on to other, less painful topics-memories, new careers, relationships, travel, sports-several of the conversations branching off as they often do.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Andy showed up carrying a thumb drive, trembling slightly as he handed it to Hutch, saying, "Just give it an honest read. That's all I ask."

Hutch had never seen him so vulnerable. Felt as if he may be catching a glimpse of the real Andy McKenna.

"You took your sweet time getting back here," Matt told him. "You might've missed your golden opportunity."

"I decided it needed a few tweaks. Couple clarifications in the second act. The killer's motive seemed a little murky, so I figured I'd-"

"No spoilers," Hutch said. He wanted to smile, but resisted. "I like to read a script fresh."

Andy nodded. "Totally get that, man. I feel the same way." But he stayed on his feet as if he expected Hutch to somehow pop the thumb drive into an invisible computer and start reading.

"Don't worry," Hutch said. "I'll check it out before I head back to L.A. and read the rest on the plane."

This seemed to satisfy Andy and he finally found a chair and sat down. "Thanks, man."

"No problem," Hutch told him, hoping like hell he could get past the first five pages. It wasn't likely, but he was willing to try.

As the conversations changed course again, Hutch switched chairs with Tom and finally got a chance to sit next to Ronnie. They chatted for a moment, then Hutch said, "You still smoke?"

"Not if I can help it."

"It's the one addiction I haven't been able to conquer. I'm down to two a day and I'm due. You mind stepping outside with me?"

"Be glad to," she said.

"Fair warning-I have a bit of a reputation. You might not want to be seen with me."

She smiled. "I'll take my chances. If anyone looks, I'll pretend I don't know you."

A moment later, they excused themselves and went outside. The sky had grown dark and the air felt crisp and clean-and there Hutch was, about to destroy it all with cigarette smoke. The booze and the drugs had been a cakewalk compared to nicotine, so he'd decided to wean himself. Slowly.

So far it seemed to be working. He only felt the craving a couple hundred times a day.

He dug a pack of Marlboros out of his shirt pocket, then lit up and took a deep drag, careful not to blow the smoke in Ronnie's direction.

"So Nadine tells me you're grooming pets these days."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, God, I'm so embarrassed."

"Why?"

"Because clipping dog hairs isn't exactly what I had in mind for a career path in college. I feel like such a failure."

"Don't," Hutch told her. "Failure has nothing to do with how you pay your rent, and things don't always go the way we planned. I'm a shining example of that."

She smiled wanly. "Thing is, I've never had any real plans. I went to pet grooming school on a lark, and I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up. Hell, I'm not even sure I want to grow up."

"Believe me, I know the feeling. Sometimes I think I never will.”

On this note, they both fell silent, Hutch wondering what he'd do with himself if he ever decided to leave L.A. for good. He had no real skills other than acting, and that one was questionable at best. Maybe Ronnie and he could shampoo dogs together.

After a moment, she said, "So how does it feel?"

"How does what feel?"

"Being back home after all these years?" She gestured to the bar. "Especially here. It's gotta be surreal."

"Trust me, I've seen surreal and this isn't it. Truth is, despite the circumstances, I feel more comfortable right now than I've felt in a long time."

"But you're the big Hollywood star…"

She was grinning when she said it, but he still gave her a look. "You're trying to hurt me, aren't you?"

"No, that cigarette will hurt you. I'm just giving you a hard time." She paused, then said, "What happened to you out there, Hutch? If you're so comfortable here, why did it take Jenny's death for any of us to see you again?"

It was a serious question, and he knew it. He just didn't have much of an answer for her. "I guess I'm a victim of my own success."

"Oh, please. Who do I look like-Oprah? Give me something I can work with, for chrissakes."